


Resonance

by LittleMuse



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMuse/pseuds/LittleMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme prompt: <i>At some point, the school gets so full that every room that can be used has to be used. Charles hasn't touched Erik's room since he left because he has a hard time not thinking that, if he keeps a place for him, Erik might one day come home.</i> Enter Miss Lorna Dane. Six months post-movie. X-posted to lj and <a href="http://www.xmenfiction.com">XMenFiction.com</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

* * *

 

 ****

Part 1

 

* * *

 

It was perhaps not the great to-do it should have been.

Charles had been in this room only once since his accident, just to see. What it felt like empty, what it felt like _after_. The room had still smelled of Erik, his books still on the nightstand, his clothes still in the bureau, and Charles had left some ten minutes after entering, asking Hank to see that Erik received his things, if he even wanted them.

The scent was long gone now, along with the effects and even any mild psychic remains. Charles had moved from his childhood room across the hall to the bedroom off the study on the first floor; he was closer to the younger children that way. He had given Raven's room away two months and six days ago.

Charles sat in the doorway and stared.

There was no help for it; no room in the house could afford to be kept any kind of shrine. Erik had remained cut off from him for nearly six months, but the tendrils of resolve laced with regret that Charles occasionally received from Raven were always enough to squash any hope that they might be coming back. This room belonged to no one.

And yet.

Charles had always remained open, always to Raven, and he would never have denied to himself or her that if Erik had decided to reach for him any time in recent months, he would have opened his mind willingly. Somehow, giving this room away felt like putting on a helmet of his own.

"Professor."

Hank. Standing at his back almost before Charles had picked out his signature thoughts approaching. Charles cleared his throat before Hank could ask the questions he knew were on the tip of his tongue.

"Is she here?" he said.

"Sean is giving her a tour. They'll come here last."

Charles allowed a mirthless smirk. "Pretty thing, then," he said, and he heard Hank chuckle, felt a trickle of second-hand relief at the levity.

"I suppose. Is, uh..." Charles' back was to Hank, but he could hear him shuffling awkwardly, "was there anything you wanted?" he asked. "In here?"

Charles considered it. There was nothing left, really. He swallowed carefully. "Nothing that's here anymore." He blinked hard and maneuvered himself around to face Hank, resolute, and forced a smile for him. "I'll go greet her then, shall I?" It was better than staring at the room's stripped mattress.

Without waiting for an answer, Charles rolled past Hank and out into the third-floor corridor, along which the late-teens were now housed. A few doors stood open, one student hovering at another's threshold here, the sound of someone blaring the Beatles there. There were nine currently on the floor. Most of their - his - recent recruits had been of this age.

Fighting age, Erik would have said.

And Charles had indeed been waiting since the accident, since Cuba, to hear more than whispers from the humans; to be at worst hunted and at best contacted. But he refused to call the house - the school - anything but a safe-house for now. It was not a barracks, and hopefully never would be.

There were times that Charles wondered, especially with the younger children, few though they currently were, if he was biting off more than he could chew, taking on more lives than he could reasonably care for. Times when he would forget he was now doing this alone.

Late at night, fewer and far between now, he would reach for Erik and encounter nothing, and he would allow the crippling fear for a blessed few minutes. Sometimes, he would allow anger as well, abandonment issues which had begun with his absent mother and had culminated in this. He would let himself wonder, in the indulgent way he usually attributed to children, why everyone seemed to leave, and what about him might make it so easy for them.

They were not pleasant thoughts, nor particularly relevant ones. Charles thought more of himself and his cause than that, in the light of day.

And the sun was high in the sky.

"Where are they?" Hank asked, stepping into the elevator with him. It was a tight fit, and an extra passenger made the short ride more rickety, but Charles would not insult Hank's design. He was lucky to have it.

"The kitchen," Charles said, prodding a bit at the general state of things. "Alex is with them now." The new presence added an entirely new flavor to the whole house, and he zeroed in on it - on her - stopping himself just shy of invading surface thoughts. His eyes must have unfocused; Hank was now staring down at him. "Has anyone... tested her?" Charles asked, but no, that was the wrong word. He was more than aware of her abilities.

Hank opened his mouth, but said nothing. The thought had been fully formed, however, and Charles heard it as easily as if it had been spoken aloud: they were leaving that part to him. Especially with this one.

"I don't want you all walking on eggshells around her," Charles warned him. "She'll pick up on it quickly, and being new is difficult enough."

"I think we're all sensitive to alienation," Hank joked, and even his simple stance was enough to draw attention to his still-new fur. "We'll try not to."

The elevator shuddered to a halt presently and they left it, Hank slowing his stride to keep pace with Charles. The television blared in the parlor as they passed it, but the first floor was quieter than the third as a rule. No one crossed their path on the way to the kitchen.

They were all three leaned against the island when he and Hank entered, already laughing about something or other, and Charles was suddenly glad that Sean and Alex had gotten to this one first; they tended to put people at ease.

The girl was tall and dark-haired, and though she was the last to look at them, Charles knew she was the first who had picked up on his and Hank's presence. She had not met Charles in person before and he felt her immediate reaction to both the chair and Hank when she turned, though it didn't touch her face.

Charles smiled for her. "Miss Dane," he said, and extended a hand. "Welcome to our home."

She had recovered quickly from her shock and mild curiosity was all that remained when she shook his hand. "Thank you," she said. "Palace is more like it. Professor X, I presume?"

"Charles Xavier," he said, the correction subtle. The codename was a trifle silly, especially in the absence of the CIA, and it had been Raven's invention. He had little desire to be known by it, but he had a feeling it was going to be difficult to shake. He cleared his throat, realizing he had yet to release her hand and was being stared at. "I'm sorry," he said, "this is Doctor Henry McCoy."

Lorna Dane was obviously less inclined to shake Hank's hand, but she reached out valiantly and Charles felt a swell of something like regret when his first reaction was not pride or respect, but that he could _use_ that.

"Hank," Hank told her, giving her hand a perhaps too-forceful pump.

"Hello," Lorna said, and Hank retracted his hand immediately, feeling awkward, but Charles knew Lorna was amused, the way Raven might have been.

"And you've met Sean and Alex," Charles went on. "You will be the nineteenth member of this household." And he paused, considered deferring to Hank to take her upstairs, both for the emotional weight and the indignity of the elevator ride, but no. He couldn't hide from this. "We have your room ready for you, if you'd like to settle in."

"That'd be great."

And she was genuinely relieved, Charles could tell. She had traveled a good three thousand miles, a distance exceeded only by little Ororo at this point. What she likely wanted more than anything was sleep.

Charles pressed his lips down into a thin line, took a fortifying breath and said, "This way."

 

* * *

 

It was an entirely unimpressive hotel, dingy and inexpensive, the lights either too bright or too dim. They were somewhere outside of Indianapolis, heading west, as always.

Heading away.

Where were they going, Raven had asked him once in the beginning, and ever since retrieving Emma Frost, Erik had been unable to answer her, really. Emma's methods were far less exact than Cerebro had allowed for, and their driving was aimless most days, no matter how exact their goal.

Erik tried not to think about whether or not he was disappointing Raven, especially late at night when there was nothing else to do. He tried not to think about a lot of things.

The chess set was a bit of a shock.

Erik had been looking for cigarettes, directed to this room of vending machines by the terminally bored woman at the front desk, and she had not mentioned the two tables, the coffee machine, or the stack of games and books. On one of the tables was an abandoned game of _Stratego_ , on the other, chess.

Erik stared, cigarette dangling forgotten from his mouth, then, annoyed with himself, he shook his head and lit it, breathing it in and boldly approaching the game to glare at it. He set his cigarette down in the table's ashtray, blowing a smooth plume of smoke. White was winning, and he was suddenly angry for no reason.

"I'll have you checkmated in two," Charles said, rounding Erik's right side with a soft brush of his shoulder and seating himself behind the white side. He plucked the abandoned cigarette up and took a drag, studying the board.

Erik swallowed. "I know what I'm doing," he said.

Charles looked up at him with an infuriating smirk, smoke slipping from his pretty mouth. "Your pawn placement would suggest otherwise."

Erik considered telling him that it seemed he could use a strategist on his side, then, but Charles' smile was fading like he was already reading the thought, and when Erik looked up from the chessboard again, he was gone.

Erik felt his jaw clench. The florescent light buzzed over his head. The cigarette smoldered at the edge of the ashtray, lonely.

Without a word, he swiped a hand at the board, scattering the chess pieces to the floor, and he left for his own room, tucking the rest of the cigarette pack into his jacket pocket.

 

* * *

 

"It's... _really_ nice," Lorna observed, and Charles winced when she set her bag down on the bare bed because her back was turned. She meant it; she was overwhelmed, but impressed. "I'm not sure it's really me, but..."

"That's all right," Charles said. "It's not really anyone. This type of house..." He shrugged a shoulder, "people have it because they can."

"That's why you do?"

Charles blinked, somehow startled by the question, and he actually laughed a little. "No," he said. "My parents, perhaps. My mother. No, I have it because I need it."

"For people like us."

"Yes."

"Hm." She plopped down on the bed with a bounce, palms settling behind her and eyes roving the ceiling. "So why do it?"

Charles frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Why bring us here?" And intrigued though Charles was, she must not have known this, because her mood shifted entirely. "I mean, I'm grateful, my aunt's been at the end of her rope with me, but-"

"No, no, you've every right to ask, I suppose," Charles said, "it's just... not a question I've gotten yet. Most people just see the promise of a school, and I... frighteningly enough, few question my motives." He scratched at his jaw and found himself chuckling again.

"So what is it?" And she laid herself back on the bed, legs dangling over the foot. "Don't wanna be alone?"

It was a bold guess, if not quite on the mark. He already liked her; the honesty was not a quirk of her age, like it was when he encountered it with the other teens in the house. "My mutation ensures that I'm never quite alone, Miss Dane."

"Lorna."

"Lorna," he obediently amended. "It's more that I prefer that no one else be."

"Nice of you," she said in a tone which would have suggested she didn't quite believe him, even if her mind hadn't been leaking skepticism.

And he could have explained, was even sorely tempted to, that he knew what it was like. Could have told this girl that he had spent the majority of his childhood alone, despite the voices in his head, hearing people talk at and around him and never to him, until Raven had arrived, and that Raven was gone now, along with one of the only other people he had ever loved, never had a chance to love. That he was alone now, in a house full of people.

None of that was Lorna Dane's business or burden.

"I suppose," Charles said instead, and cleared his throat. "Dinner is at seven, and that door is your bathroom." He pointed. "It connects to the adjoining room, but that's unoccupied for now. I'll let you rest and get settled."

"No training?"

The question came when Charles was half-turned to the door again, and the concept was mentioned no where in their new brochure, so often intercepted by parents and guardians, but was offered in every personal letter to a confirmed student.

Charles felt the metal in his chair thrum like plucked strings and his hands tightened on the wheels.

"Not today," he managed, and moved into the hall.


	2. Part 2

* * *

 

  
**Part 2**   


 

* * *

"You always up this late?"

Miss Lorna Dane did not look up from the stove when Alex entered the kitchen, unsurprised in a way he had only come to expect from sneaking up (or failing to) on the professor. "Oh, it's you," she did say though, and it made him feel a little less unnerved. Her eyes roved up and down his form and he cleared his throat and boldly crossed the floor to sit at one of the island's stools. "It's only eleven on the West Coast," she told him, wiping her hands against each other and glancing into the pot she had been stirring. "Not used to it yet. What about you?"

Alex shrugged a shoulder, crossing his arms against the counter's cool granite. "My sleep schedule has been fucked for a while now," he said. "Where I was before, it... the only thing really set was when I ate." He furrowed his brow. "What're you making?"

"Don't really know," Lorna said with half a grin. "Just putting things in that taste good together." She had turned back to the stove, but then her shoulders grew rigid and she looked back at him, clearly worried. "You don't think the professor would mind, do you?"

Alex laughed at her before he could think not to and was relieved when it didn't seem to offend her. "No," he said. "He's not like that. He invited you here; he really means it when he tells you his house is your house, it's kind of amazing." He stopped and thought. "I mean, there was that incident when Sean and I borrowed Raven's bra to launch those apples, but that... that was different. You're rarely gonna see him mad, that's all." He nodded toward her pot. "This is fine."

"Hm," she said, and shook some green flecks into the concoction. Belatedly, Alex realized he should not have mentioned Raven without being prepared to explain her absence, but Lorna did not ask, no doubt assuming her to be one of the many mutants under the mansion's roof that she had yet to meet. "So what do you do?" she asked instead, and Alex started, as he always did when faced with that question.

"What do I do," he said, and it sounded evasive even to his own ears.

Sure enough, she arched an eyebrow at him and said, "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do, but it's... it's nothing like you," he said. "Nothing I could do in here. It's dangerous."

"Ooo," she said, and the grin was back.

"Not 'ooo.' I'll show you sometime, if you like, but not here." He could do that now without concern, thanks to Charles Xavier, but there were still plenty of times he looked around this place with envy, at all the other mutants they were gathering, Lorna included, who could call their abilities, _themselves_ , something other than a weapon.

"Hm," she said again, turning back to the pot. "And you know what I do, then?"

Alex felt the zipper handle on his hooded sweatshirt stand at attention, but when he uneasily smoothed it back down, it stayed there. He suddenly had his suspicions about how she had known when he entered the room. "We all know what you do."

And there must have been something in his voice, because she gave him a strange look and tucked her dark hair behind her ear, looking chastised. "Sorry, I was playing," she said, like his anger was at all about the zipper or her. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

It was the tone of her voice, so different from the beginning of this conversation, that made Alex feel horrible. How dare he make her feel out of place, even here?

"It's not that," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "It's not you."

"Just this," she said, and the spoon with which she had been stirring her 'soup' began stirring by itself, and Alex took her meaning easily. Their abilities were an intrinsic part of them all.

"It's really not..." But there he stopped. Somehow, it didn't feel like his place to explain. "I don't mind," he amended. "Neither will the young ones, but maybe... wait to mess around like that until training. Especially around the professor."

"Why?"

Alex made a face. "Think of it like hugging someone you don't know."

Lorna laughed and that helped a little. "No, I mean, why especially with the professor?"

Alex squeezed his elbows. "That's... his issue. I think he should probably explain it. But," He made himself lean forward, toward her, "no one here has a problem with you, okay? I promise." It took a moment, but Lorna finally nodded at him. He gave one nod back and sat back on his stool. "Now, give me some of that. The bowls are in the top cabinet to your left."

Charles received a vague impression of the conversation the next morning when Alex came to him, asking for the keys to the bunker, which the new students - and now Alex as well, Charles saw - were beginning to refer to as the "Danger Room."

"Lorna asked to see what I can do," he explained though Charles had not asked.

"I see," Charles said, rolling back from his desk to bend to the drawer that housed the keys. When he held them out to Alex, he accepted them hesitantly.

"Listen, professor," he said, his discomfort unbearably loud. Charles attempted to tune it out. "She may want to work a little, when she sees me, and the room, and... well, I was wondering. I mean, usually I know you try to orient the students, really see what they can do, but with her... I didn't know if you'd want- is it okay? To go ahead and start with her?"

Alex's utter disorientation was both rare and endearing, but Charles didn't think he could smile at it. He was too busy legitimately considering the question. It would hurt nothing for Alex to _begin_ her training. It was the principle of the thing, really; Charles had made sure to be present at the first session of every current student. It would make his absence significant. Even if Lorna wouldn't know the difference, Charles would.

He sighed and pushed himself out from behind the desk. His first class wasn't for an hour yet. "Perhaps I'll just come with you," he said and Alex's surprise punched like the glance of his power. Charles winced. "It's fine, Alex. I won't break." He did not attempt to deny that it would be hard; Alex had been there nearly from the beginning and knew better. But Charles was learning to live without Erik and Raven the same way he had been learning to live without his legs, and people constantly drawing attention to the lack helped nothing.

To further affirm this, he led the way out of the study, leaving Alex no choice but to follow him.

 

* * *

 

Emma Frost, Erik had been both pleased and displeased to note some two days after her recruitment, was not afraid of him.

Oh, she was _aware_ enough of him. She knew where to step and where to avoid, like navigating landmines, occasionally even enjoyed hopping on one. But it was all a tactician's practicality, a matter of convenience over safety. It wasn't that Erik wouldn't hurt her, wasn't that he couldn't, it was simply that it was never the question.

Cold and detached, no doubt a completely different sort of project for Shaw than Erik had been. It was a small comfort, in and of itself. She was invested in nothing that was Erik. What he stood for, perhaps, but not him. Not him. It kept the whole thing business, which was what any mission he had taken on should have remained from the start.

So it unnerved him entirely when Emma would occasionally delve into the realm of the personal.

"He's taken on another," she informed him one afternoon, and Erik stiffened, caught off-guard by her tone, entirely too amused for a simple report.

"Oh?" he said conversationally. Raven, seated across from him and clearly wary, watched his face carefully. Erik didn't meet her eyes. He had grown past his jealousy, he liked to think, over how quickly Charles seemed to recruit compared to his own Brotherhood. Erik had left behind pages of leftover coordinates when he had left behind Charles.

"A metal-bender."

It had the effect Erik knew Emma was hoping for; keeping it off his face and firmly behind his helmet was the trick. "I see."

"I've... poked around a bit," Emma said, and she seated herself beside Raven, crossing one leg over the other and throwing an arm over the chair back. "She's far less developed than his original, if you will."

Erik carefully turned a page in his book. "Then for once, Charles and I have something in common."

When he looked, Emma was smirking at him, aloft foot wagging, and he found himself grinning at her. It was a game Raven never understood, obviously aware that the tension had somehow eased, but helpless to explain how or why. She would learn, Erik thought, when she came to accept herself, her talents and her limitations both.

"How old?" he asked Emma.

"Young. Like the others," she said. "Eager and completely undisciplined. You would crush her."

"Then she can't be meant to face me, can she?" And of course she wouldn't be; war was never the endgame Charles had in mind. He had no intention of putting this girl in danger, Erik was suddenly certain, likely hadn't even sought her out for her particular mutation. Not in the way Erik had sought Emma. He felt irreplaceable. He felt worthless. "Thank you, Emma."

Savvy as she was, Emma took the hint and quit the room, leaving him alone again with Raven. She leaned forward as though she were freer to speak with him now the telepath was gone from them, as if her words were the thing to protect.

"It doesn't bother you?" she demanded, and Erik turned another page.

"It doesn't matter," he said. Feeling wasn't behavior; it would do them all good if she would learn it.

Apparently dissatisfied with that, as she so often seemed to be with Erik's methods, Raven pushed away from the table and left as well. She probably would have liked to have been called after, followed. Erik did neither.

 

* * *

 

Charles had instructed Alex to take the stairs with Lorna; they would not all fit in the elevator. As such, she was unaware Charles was joining them until they had reached the basement level.

"Professor," she said, but it was only a greeting, like they might simply be happening to cross paths.

"Miss Dane," he returned.

"Lorna."

"Lorna." Charles made a point to remember to use the name. He had called none of the other students by their surname past their first meeting. "You won't mind if I sit in?" And he smiled at his little joke, pleased when Alex returned it. "I'd like to see what you can do."

"Oh." Lorna looked to Alex like she was looking for help and Charles picked up on the problem before she verbalized it.

"The chair is a problem," Charles said and she looked downright ashamed of herself.

"It might be," she admitted. "I'm a little... all over the place. Sometimes, it affects everything metal in the room. Other times, it'll touch some metal pieces and not others and I don't know why."

"Interesting," Charles said, and then pushed himself on toward the bunker. "Let's find out, then. With your permission, Lorna, I'll simply put a stop to things if you grow too unstable."

"I... guess." And had her reluctance been anything to do with his telepathy, Charles would have withdrawn, but it was his presence alone that unnerved her. She thought he didn't like her. Denying that outright would do no good; he would have to prove it.

"Now tell me," he said, slipping into the comfort of teaching. It would relax the both of them. "Have there been pieces you've been familiar with, things that you have noticed you could always move or never move? Or is it always sporadic?"

They stepped along behind him and Lorna thought how to answer him. She thought in images more than words, unlike Charles himself, and several were sifted through before she settled.

"My aunt had a necklace," she said, and yes, Charles could see it. "My grandfather's wings. She always wore it. I could never move it."

"Mm. Anything else?"

"Silverware, I almost always can."

"Not always?"

"I tried with my own at dinner last night, but couldn't."

They had reached the bunker and Charles allowed Alex to step forward with the keys. Charles mentally considered all of them as Alex fumbled with them, but none would be right.

"Alex," he said as Alex pushed the unlocked doors open. "The chain around your neck; what's it made of?"

Alex gave him an odd look. "I have no idea."

Charles chuckled to himself. "Of course, sorry." And then, as he pushed himself into the bunker along with them, his eyes alighted on his own hand. "Here we are," he said, and peeled his Oxford signet ring off of it. "This, Lorna," He held it up, plucked between thumb and forefinger, "is silver. I'm going to set it on the floor and let you try to move it. It's small, it should be no trouble in terms of the magnitude of your abilities."

Lorna nodded and Charles set the ring down, backing away from it as he had learned to do with most things in the Danger Room. Her ability may not have been Alex's, but even a ring could be a bullet with the right force behind it.

"I can't even feel it," she commented as she lifted a hand toward it.

"That could be the size," Charles said, and settled his hands into his lap, finger feeling naked.

And Lorna shook her head at his answer, but still made a valiant effort to _push_. Her energy was in no way the problem; Charles could feel it in his own head, and there was the same feeling in his chair as there had been last night in her ( _Erik's_ ) room, a not-quite shudder. Charles felt it the moment she released, disappointed.

"It's all right," Charles said, as she bent to place her hands on her knees, more worn out than he would have guessed her to have been. "It's not you."

Charles saw that she was immediately thrown back into last night's conversation with Alex when he said that, and was no more satisfied by the reassurance than she had been then.

"It's not?" she said, a touch saucily and Charles laughed.

"No," he said, rolling and bending to pick his ring back up. "It's the silver." He examined the ring like it had answers. "As I thought. Fascinating."

"So, I... can't move silver?" Lorna said, more curious than let down, and Charles received flashes of various spoons and forks, the realization that they had been steel, unlike her aunt's necklace, unlike last night's dinner set.

"It would appear not," he said, and clenched his ring in his fist before looking up at her with a grin. "Let's see what you can."


	3. Part 3

* * *

 

  
**Part 3**   


 

* * *

An hour had not been much time, in the end, given the ambiguous limitations of Lorna's abilities. Charles was accustomed to reigning people in, not drawing them out, and until they could work out why it was Lorna was able to do certain things and not others, there would be little moving forward. In the meantime, Charles had left Lorna with Alex, less to train and more to play, though he had let them believe he hadn't known that. Fun was far less fun if it was condoned by the resident authority figure.

For Lorna's next session, Charles decided he would bring Hank along, and allow him to throw his two cents in regarding the physics of the girl's capabilities. It could have been simple genetics. Surely not all metal-benders were like Erik, just as not all telepaths were like Charles.

Charles brushed against Jean's consciousness at the thought, checking, always checking. He hoped Lorna's problems were not emotional; he had enough of that to deal with.

Curiosity piqued, Jean poked against him, startling Charles a little. He was still unaccustomed to seeking out someone who could seek back; Emma had certainly never been interested in anything but shielding. Charles eased away with a sweep of fondness, the mental equivalent perhaps of smoothing Jean's hair back. Satisfied nothing was amiss, she allowed the withdrawal without following.

He worried, often, that he was not a fit mentor for the girl. Shielding himself was quite different from restraining himself, and Charles knew there were times - many more than he would have liked - that Jean had picked up on negative emotions which she should not have had to associate with a caretaker. She was not like Alex or Sean, or even Lorna, all old enough to understand that he was human, to not require his unswerving protection. Jean should have been able to rely on him entirely, and he was failing at that.

Charles was a logical man. He knew that he had lost a great deal in a very short amount of time and that assimilating it all was a process. But surely it wasn't asking too much to be able to hide that process when necessary?

Surely it wasn't asking too much to go one day without thinking about him?

He stomped on the musing before Jean, still close, could pick up on it. Thoughts of Raven, she understood. Thoughts of Erik tended to confound her. Charles suspected pubescence was complicated enough even before the realization that sexuality, like so many things, could be so gray. He didn't think it had yet occurred to Jean what all of the feelings he associated with Erik were.

How many people in the house could he say that about? Hank knew, Charles was certain. Alex didn't like it at all, in many ways, but he knew. Sean wouldn't even broach the topic of Erik, which could only mean he knew as well.

Charles wondered how long it would be before Lorna knew. He wondered why it mattered if she knew; the children were all young, and he doubted if there were many who considered their respect for him tied up in this sort of thing.

He didn't want her tainted by Erik's shadow. She didn't deserve that. Unfortunately, Charles thought it was likely unavoidable.

Curiously, hopelessly, Charles reached out, well past the mansion's grounds, but even Raven was beyond him now; they were out of his range.

Charles swallowed thickly and reined himself back in. He had asked for this, he reminded himself, or some version of this, at least. Erik had left only because Charles was the one who had to stay. The choice to separate had been far from Erik's alone. Alex and Hank and Sean, they could be as angry as they liked, feel as betrayed as they liked, but Charles could have gone just as easily as Erik could have stayed.

Which was to say, he couldn't have.

It was what it was, and they would all have to do better than they had been doing. Especially him.

 

* * *

 

"You know I'm not really here."

It could have been a question, but it was definitely more rhetorical than inquisitive. A reminder, and one Erik didn't need. He lolled his head over to look at Charles', resting next to it on the pillow. Blue, blue eyes watched him carefully.

"You could be," Erik told him, thinking of his helmet, well across the room and, according to Emma, safe there this far out.

"But I'm not."

"... No," Erik agreed, lifting his hand from the bed and toward Charles. He stopped just shy of brushing the back of it over his cheek, but Charles' eyes still shut, either expectant or regretful. "I could never imagine you well enough to fool myself."

The resulting smile was wan. "You must just be mad, then."

Erik lowered his hand. "Maybe that's preferable." To what, he wasn't sure. To Charles truly in his head, to being alone.

A wrinkle of concern appeared in the middle of Charles' brow and he reached up like he intended to pick up where Erik had left off, to touch Erik's face. Erik closed his eyes in anticipation, but Charles' touch never came either. He was alone again when he opened them.

It was ridiculous, really. He had shared a bed with Charles a literal handful of times, and half of even them platonic, not nearly enough to have become used to it. Addicted, maybe, but not accustomed.

Erik hesitantly rolled to press his face into the other side of the pillow, like Charles' scent might be there somewhere, even buried deep. It wasn't, of course, but there was a touch of Raven, and that was comforting in its own way.

What he had with Raven wasn't platonic, but it wasn't particularly otherwise either. In a few years, he had told her, and he had meant it, had not fucked her, but she would sleep beside him occasionally, and as often as she did that, there was kissing or touching.

They each knew what the other was: the only other person around who missed Charles as much as they did. And a friend in their own right, accepting and honest.

Erik was painfully aware that she could become Charles at a mere request, as aware as he was that the Charles in his head was not real, but it was a line he refused to cross. It would become a crutch and it would lessen Raven herself, hinder what she was becoming, what Erik was becoming.

In time, Erik would forget Charles, as much as it was possible to. His mind was incredibly disciplined when he wanted it to be; even Charles had confirmed that. He would look back on his time with him with fondness when he was able (for now did not change then), and he would understand it for what it was, for what everything that had happened to him was: something that had made him stronger.

The wound would close, dissipate to a dull ache, and then it would scar over. And he would not fall asleep to phantom touches, to the ghost of soft hair under his fingertips and softer lips on his own.

 

* * *

 

It was already a party, by the time Alex arrived.

It was a large second-floor bathroom, because nothing about the manor was ever small, but the four people already inside - Lorna, Jean, Ororo, and inexplicably, Sean - were pushing the capacity limit, crowded around the brightly lit sink. Jean was perched on the edge of the marble counter, legs swinging, while Lorna gently held her face, brushing color across her eyes. Jean's ability ensured that her contentment was a palpable thing, and Alex found himself smiling as he watched.

He leaned a shoulder casually against the door frame. "What's going on in here?" he asked, and Sean and Ororo turned to him and Jean peeked her free eye open.

"Makeovers," Sean said. "I've been looking for a way to highlight these cheekbones." And it may have been sarcasm, or an excuse to get close to Lorna, but part of Alex wouldn't have been at all surprised if Sean had been dead serious either. Sean wiggled a finger in his direction. "And you could do with some moisturizing of that T-Zone, man."

Alex heard Lorna giggle even though she was still facing Jean, and he bristled at the idea of she and Sean sharing a joke at his own expense. At her thinking less of him, in general.

Instead of telling Sean to shut up, which would likely have only made it worse, Alex pushed away from the door to step closer. It was nice, he decided, to have someone their age of the female persuasion around again; maybe not for him and Sean, but for the other girls. Jean could go to Charles for her telepathy, but Alex shuddered to think of what the professor would have done confronted with her period or something equally horrifying. And Ororo, usually more careful with herself than even Jean, seemed attached to Lorna's leg.

Alex glanced over the counter and Jean obediently scooted for him, Lorna following. Eyeshadows and blushes were scattered everywhere, hair curlers, hair dye. He lifted the last, curiously.

"You're not dying their hair?" he said, and surprised himself a little with how disapproving he sounded.

"No," Lorna assured him, petting an absent hand at Ororo's white head. "That's mine." And she stood back from Jean long enough to take it from him, looking down at the bottle like she hadn't considered it before and then setting it aside. "My roots are starting to grow out."

It drew Alex's attention to her head, but if there was a change from the normal brown of her hair, it would have taken a more discerning eye than his to detect it. "What color is it supposed to be?" he asked.

Lorna snorted a laugh at him. "I suppose it's supposed to be what it is right now," she said. "But naturally, it's... greenish."

"She's been dying it since she was seven," Jean spoke up, and from the way Lorna glanced back at her, Alex gathered she hadn't been told that.

"Green hair would be boss," Sean said, levering himself up beside the sink and Jean. "Wish mine was green."

Lorna gave him an indulgent smile. "I've been thinking about leaving it," she said, and somehow Alex knew she was speaking to him, maybe even looking for permission. "Since I came here, there doesn't seem much point." She met Alex's eyes. "No more hiding, right?"

Alex blinked and felt the urge to wince or recoil, even though she was far from wrong. "I think you should leave it if you want," he conceded.

"But you don't like the idea."

"I didn't say that," he said. "Besides, where you're coming from, it seems like it shouldn't matter if I didn't, so." But the cheerful atmosphere of the room had somehow been ruined, and Alex couldn't bring himself to figure out how to reverse it. Jean looked very unsure of how to react, but Alex thought she likely understood. The things she must have learned about them all, training with the professor; it didn't take a telepath to see that Raven and Erik were never far from Charles' thoughts.

"You know what, ladies?" Sean blurted, hopping down from his perch and brushing nonexistent dust from his pants. "I think I'm gonna go get myself a snack. Who wants to help me raid the fridge?"

It might have been an escape tactic, but Alex tended to believe it was an attempt at what it in fact achieved - whisking the younger children from the room before things got ugly. Lorna just looked uncomfortable, so Alex could only assume that the perceived threat was his own fault. He was pleased Lorna didn't leave as well. She only began gathering the makeup into a messy pile.

"Mutation," Alex said, without knowing how he was going to end the sentence, "it's a tricky subject."

"Yes," Lorna agreed. "Dying it just feels like I shouldn't be this way in the first place." She looked up at him, but only long enough to glance. "Like none of us should be."

"I don't think you should have to feel that way; this isn't about that, and I'm sorry." Alex ran a hand back through his hair and felt it spike awkwardly. "We've just had some people around here with some very obvious mutations..."

"Like Hank."

"Like Hank," Alex echoed. "And he would be the first to tell you that there's been some serious debate on how to... deal with that. And I just don't like being reminded of it all."

Lorna nodded, lips pursed. "It's not me."

"It's not you."

"I'm starting to think I missed all the fun long before I got here."

"I guess that would be one way of putting it."

"Because it's not just you," Lorna said, zipping the makeup bag and turning to him, apparently comfortable enough again to meet his eyes. "There's this strange tension almost all the time in the house." She gestured vaguely. "And you know what I've noticed?"

She waited, so Alex shook his head.

"It gets worse when I come into a room."

Alex's brow furrowed. "Says who?" he demanded, because it was true, but he'd be damned if he let her believe it.

"Says Jean," Lorna said, and Alex felt deflated. She shook her head, looking tired. "Don't be angry with her - I don't think she quite realizes what she should share and what she shouldn't yet."

"What'd she say?"

"Nothing specific. I don't think she knows much, herself. She just picks up on everyone else. So tell me, Alex, if it's not me, what is it?"

It wasn't a challenge, rather a clear plea, and Alex didn't know how to say no to it. Maybe Charles wouldn't want him saying anything, maybe he would welcome the chance to not have to explain it himself, Alex didn't know, but Lorna was part of this family now.

Alex settled his hips back against the sink and cleared his throat. "There used to be more of us," he said, and it felt good to say it aloud, to acknowledge that they had been here. It made it real again and ironically less painful. "People who thought we shouldn't have to hide. They left us."

Lorna blinked. "Because you disagreed?" she asked and the sheer incredulity in her voice was a blow.

"It wasn't that simple," Alex said. "There was more to it than that, but... they're gone now, and we all miss them."

"I'm sorry," Lorna said, obviously sincere. And then, separate from the apology, "But I don't understand."

Alex sighed. He wanted to stop, but it was likely better to get it all out now. "It was Charles' best friend," he said, "whose idea it was to leave. And he could move metal."

Lorna said nothing, but her expression shuttered.

"I told you it wasn't you," he said, and he almost reached for her hand, was even surprised that he had to stop his own halfway there. "But what you can do brings up a lot of bad memories, for everyone."

Lorna opened her mouth, but stopped herself once, almost twice before speaking. "The professor knew what I could do before I came here," she said, like a defense.

"Lorna, you're welcome here, I promise," Alex insisted. "He did know. He sees a mutant in need and he thinks it shouldn't have to matter. And it shouldn't."

"But," she prompted. There was no question in her tone.

"But," he said, "I guess I do wonder sometimes that he's trying to prove just how _much_ it doesn't." That didn't have to be Lorna's problem, however. "It's a touchy subject, but if you wanted to talk to him about it, clear the air, even just for Jean, he'd-"

"No," she said, not particularly emphatic, but perfectly resolute. "Not my place."

Alex imagined Lorna approaching Charles in his study, asking to talk about Erik, or worse, telling him Alex had told her about him. She was right, it would have been presumptuous. Maybe he would suggest to Charles that he come to Lorna; that way might be better.

"I guess," he said.

Lorna pulled at the ends of her hair, studying the roots in the bright mirror. "They were close?"

The question surprised Alex, but maybe it shouldn't have. "Very," he said. Maybe even half in love, he didn't say. "He was the professor's age. It was both of them who came and found me. And it was almost like... losing a parent."

There was a pause. Maybe it was a moment of silence.

"I'm sorry," Lorna said again.

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "Me too."

 

* * *

 

Thanks for the comments, guy, keep 'em comin'! And come check out and join the new [X-Men Fiction](http://www.xmenfiction.com) site, I often update there first. :)


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